


Take the Odds (What's a Little Trouble?)

by WolvesattheAviary



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Career Ending Injuries, Dallas Stars, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Jamie and Jordie have a catering business, M/M, Misunderstandings, Tyler still plays for the Stars, s'cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 11:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolvesattheAviary/pseuds/WolvesattheAviary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jamie had to do his "Dream Job" project in high school, he said he was going to play in the NHL. He never would have pictured being an accountant/ bartender serving drinks at the Dallas Stars Casino Night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take the Odds (What's a Little Trouble?)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm new!  
> (Hi, New, I'm dad!)
> 
> All dad jokes aside, this is the first fic I'm uploading to AO3 :) If you like it, or have any constructive criticism, please let me know by leaving kudos or a comment!
> 
> If you're not a fan of Jamie Benn/Tyler Seguin, or are/know them, I recommend watching cat videos or something else that's not reading this.
> 
> ***
> 
> Inspired by JB’s brief stint as a waiter during the Stars’ Casino Night.
> 
> Since this is an AU, when I say inspired, I mean like super loose with any and all events that actually took place in the Casino Night video that the Stars released. Like, idk if there was food? I hope there was food… Also in this fic the Stars totally shelled out for actual photo booths XD
> 
> I tried my best to get Jamie’s parallel timeline right in this fic *crosses fingers*. 
> 
> I don’t own the Stars or any identities besides the OFCs, and this is 99% fiction with the exception of Jamie Benn referencing The Bachelor while handing out wine.

Jamie was rudely woken up from his afternoon nap by his phone vibrating furiously on his nightstand. Squinting at the two missed call notifications and a text in all caps reading: “ALL HANDS ON DECK, GET HERE NOW” from Jordie, Jamie sighs letting his head drop back onto his pillow.

Today is the day. By some miracle – and maybe a little of Jordie’s charm –  their catering services had been hired for the Dallas Stars’ Casino Night.

***

Jordie had always wanted to be a chef.

Jamie, on the other hand, never had much of a plan B if hockey didn’t pan out. But then he found out his hips were fucked, which on top of the NHL scouts reporting him to be “too slow” meant his hopes at going pro were DOA.

After moping around for a few months while recovering from hip surgery, Jamie figured he should try to get his life back into some kind of order after hockey had ripped itself out. Math was one of his stronger subjects, and when the guidance counselor asked him about his future plans, awkwardly steering the conversation around the elephant in the room – which he was grateful for, even if it probably made the meeting worse – Jamie found himself saying, “Uh, accounting? Maybe?”

His parents and siblings were pretty shocked when he told them his new plan and in all honesty he was too. But he didn’t have any other ideas, especially when all he could think about was a phone call from a team saying they’d still take him, bone spurs and all.

Three years into university, and he’d made progress, at least been halfway to forgetting what his life was like when it revolved around hockey.

By the time he graduated, the pain was something he was accustomed to, a dull ache that showed no sign of completely fading. Jamie avoided the sport as much as he could, which was to say not as much as he needed to because Vancouver breathes hockey. Walking past rinks he played at as a kid, or driving past the old skate shop where he always got his gear when he went home to see his parents, or wanting to go out for a beer, but knowing every screen in the bar would be tuned in to hockey, kept his mental wounds open when they should have healed with his physical ones four years ago.

He guesses that he’s lucky since the firm he’d interned at during undergrad at UBC offered him a position right after graduation, but the nine to five grind started to wear on him pretty quickly. And Jamie could feel himself starting to slip back into the spiral he’d spent years trying to claw his way out of.

He still daydreamed about his skates cutting into fresh ice, the frenetic chaos of a game, and the satisfaction of a puck hitting the back of the goal. It’s a bittersweet combination that dredged up emotions he’d rather keep firmly locked down.

So when Jordie called him up with the idea to start a catering business, he jumped at the chance. He needed a break from everything hockey, and Vancouver offered no escape, but Texas?

Texas cared jackshit about the sport.

There, he reasoned, he wouldn’t be triggered every damn day into wondering “what if?” over and over again. Maybe giving himself some space would let him heal, so he could get back on the ice without feeling the crushing weight of “not good enough” across his shoulders.

***

Jordie hugged him at the airport, looking a lot tanner than he’d ever been, “Gotta get you outside, Chubbs!” Jordie laughed before ruffling Jamie’s hair, “Found out sunshine does wonders for you!”

This was a lie. Jamie looked like a lobster after just a half hour in the Texas sun.

He’d woken up the next morning to a sloppily put together attempt at a gift basket filled with at least nine brands of sunscreen.

*** 

Later that week, he and Jordie were in their apartment kind of paying attention to a commercial for Jack Daniels. They were watching SportsCenter and had been too lazy to change the channel when it cut to commercial break. Jamie had a nice buzz going from drinking a few beers and was dozing a little, until Jordie sat up abruptly on the other side of couch.

“Chubbs, you gotta go to bartending school.”

He thought about it for a second, then shrugged, “Sure.”

Until Jordie sorted out their licensing, he had nothing better to do.

***

In a surprising turn of events, Jamie found he really liked bartending. There was something comforting about the use of ratios, the proportion of the liquors, mixers, and garnishes in respect to each other. Each drink was about finding a balance, and that balance was unique to each one.

There’s probably some metaphor he could make about himself and hockey there, but he never was very good at reading between the lines.

It took them a month or two to get off the ground, but after their first big event, an engagement party for two of Jordie’s friends, word spread from there.

Fast forward to late 2015, and UrBenn Catering Co. is doing good business, really good, actually.

It's a sweet setup too. They majorly lucked out with their storefront, buying in a part of town that urban renewal hadn’t come around to quite yet, making the property price a steal. Then as gentrification swung through, they began drumming up even more business and putting themselves on the map.

With a wedding each weekend and a few other events lined up for November, Jamie and Jordie realized they’d hit the point where an expansion to the company was overdue. They end up hiring two more sous chefs and another bartender to keep up with the hike in interest.

After interviewing a dozen applicants, Thema was the clear standout to Jamie. Not only could she answer Jamie’s questions covering how to make a variety of cocktails, she also whipped up a kickass Green Lady, so really, it was a no-brainer.

Jordie’s two hires were an older guy named Johnny who had an impressive skill set and a wicked sense of humor, and nineteen year old Val who didn’t speak a lot of English, but could definitely keep up with the two older chefs.

Everything was running a little more streamlined, and Jordie was looking less stressed out, so Jamie thought they made the right move.

They made it through the month with a few hiccups, but none that were too terrible. There was one incident with some bad squash that had Jordie ready to throttle their supplier, but Val sorted it out. Jamie’s still not really sure how… but he probably shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. They’d had a great selection of butternut squash delivered later that day, so they didn’t need to find a new supplier, much to Jamie’s relief.

The first monday in December though, the door to their shop was flung open by a woman talking rapidly into one phone and typing away at another.

After peeking out of the kitchen, Jamie met Jordie’s eyes, making a fist with one hand. Quickly, they did rock, paper, scissors to figure out which one of them had to deal with her.

In Jamie’s experience, if anyone’s speaking that fast, shit’s going down. Everything moves a little slower in the Texas and fast _anything_ is a sign that trouble isn't far behind.

He beat Jordie’s paper with scissors, but Jordie held up two fingers. Jamie huffed, “Two out of three? Please.” He muttered.

The woman's voice started to rise in pitch and Jamie cringed.

One, two, three and he held up Spock to Jordie’s rock. Jordie started toward him, until a shrill voice called out.

“Hello?”

“Yes, sorry, I’ll be right with you!” Jordie replied, flipping Jamie off before visibly steeling himself as he walked out to meet her.

***

“Holy fuck.” Jordie breathed out, as he entered Jamie's office.

Jamie gets his own space, even if it's just to put his accounting degree to use and balance their budget. Taking care of the books makes Jamie one part accountant and one part bartender, a combination he'd never have imagined for the “Dream Job” project all the high schoolers have to do at one point or another.

“What?”

“You’ll never guess what we just landed.”

“Uh, a shareholders meeting for the Cowboys?” Jamie doesn’t look up from Excel, he’s got to finish getting their accounts in order for the month.

“No, close though.” Jordie replies.

“Just tell me, Darth.”

“The Dallas Stars Casino Night.” Jordie said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Wait, like the _NHL_ Dallas Stars?” Jamie swiveled around in his desk chair to peer at Jordie who’s pacing the floor.

“Yeah, those Stars.” Jordie scratched his chin.

“Jordie…”

“I know you… and hockey, but think about the connections we could make from this!”

There’s a beat of silence before Jamie answered, “We should do it.”

He hoped he said it with enough conviction so Jordie wouldn't see through him. It's like Jordie said, or rather didn't say, Jamie's not sure how he feels either. He’s not completely torn up and angry about it, the way he was eight years ago, and he can watch a game on TV now and then, but it’s  a big step.

He also knows though that Jordie would call the woman right back and tell her they wouldn’t do it, if he thought Jamie was too uncomfortable.

It’s about damn time though that he got over himself, and dusted off the last remnants of a broken dream, so Jamie takes a deep breath, and repeats himself, “Jordie, we should do it.”

His brother looked at him, undoubtedly considering if Jamie was being serious. Jamie nodded and Jordie broke out into a wide grin, whooping, “We got it!”

Unable to stop the matching grin from breaking across his face, Jamie grabbed a pen and notepad, “So, Darth, whatcha thinkin’ about serving?”

***

Jamie pulls up to the Park Place Lexus & Jaguar Dealership, dressed in faded jeans and a t-shirt. Carrying the garment bag with his clothes for later that night, he pushes open the glass doors. Inside, a considerably smaller number of people than Jamie would have expected scurry around trying to set up tables, photo booths, and the bar. He spots Jordie out of the corner of his eye and makes a beeline for him.

When he reaches Jordie, his brother grabs him by the shoulders. “Thank fuck, you’re here. Sloane is about to rip her extensions out. A bunch of the temps were double booked, and won’t get here until the actual event starts, so we got tapped in.”

Surveying the room, Jamie sees the event coordinator biting her nails between shrieking out orders for how the chairs needed to be arranged at precise positions around the green felt top poker tables.

It actually turned out that UrBenn Catering hadn’t even been the first choice for the Stars Casino Night, but a series of unforeseen circumstances resulted in the original caterers dropping the event. And now with this? Jamie actually felt pretty bad for Sloane, considering how much shit she had to deal with to make all this happen.

“JAMIE! Great! Can you help set up the chairs?” Sloane tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace, and her left eye kept twitching, betraying how stressed she really was.

“Sure thing!” He figures a little feigned enthusiasm would be appreciated right about now.

***

Placing the chairs around the tables and putting on “finishing touches” took the better part of the afternoon, and Jamie is now taking a much needed break since everything was finally set up. His feet are starting to hurt a bit... maybe he should go find some Advil.

“You guys are giving me a bonus, right?” Thema’s stretched out on the floor, her afro fanned out in a halo against the tile.

“Definitely.”

This would've been no problem if he was still playing hockey, but the amount of lifting he'd done completely sapped his strength.

He's not out of shape, but his stomach is a little reflective of his childhood nickname. It's hard to devote the time to working out when hockey isn't your only job.

It’s nice that he can have that line of thought now, without spinning out. He almost feels ready to head over to the rink that’s near their apartment and get back on the ice.

It’s been a long time.

Exhaling, Jamie checks his phone to find that it's only an hour till Casino Night starts. “Need a hand?”, he asks Thema.

“Thanks, little Benn, but I think I'm gonna hang out here for a little bit.”

“Alright.”

***

Changed into a black shirt, tie, and pair of slacks, Jamie fixes his hair in the bathroom mirror, using a bit of gel to slick back his pompadour fade. He straightens his tie then stuffs the hangers into his garment bag.

Exiting the bathroom, he renters the floor room, holding up his keys and jingling them to let Thema, who’s already behind the bar, know where he’s going.

He's cutting it close, but there aren't any cars around that don't belong to the dealership, the staff of UrBenn Catering, or Sloane. He should be fine.

Unlocking his truck, Jamie stows the bag, getting into the cab to swap his socks and shoes. Taking out his oxfords, he gives them each a quick buff with the shoeshine Jordie left inside the glovebox ages ago and never took out,  before slipping them on.

As he's walking back, his phone rings, playing a country song Jamie can never remember the title to. Swiping the screen, he holds it up to his ear, “What’s up, Jordie?”

“People are coming in! Where are you?” There's a hint of panic in his voice, and never in a million years would Jamie guess that he’d be the calm one in this situation.

He’d parked at the far end of the lot, so getting back is a bit of a hike, “Had to drop off my stuff in the truck, I'm coming ba- oof!” He's turning a corner of the building when he runs into someone.

“Sorry, man.” A brunet stands a few inches from Jamie, rubbing his shoulder, brown eyes blinking up at him through the kind of lashes that make Jamie understand what girls want from mascara.

Jamie looks at the man whose lithe wrists display a hint of tattoos beneath his suit jacket. “I should be the one apologizing, I wasn't paying attention at all.” The words kind of rush out of his mouth, and he can feel his cheeks start to heat up. Jamie knows he's like a five on a good day, but this guy? He's an effortless eleven out of ten.

“Nah, I was on mine too; guess we're both to blame. Hey, do you know where the back entrance is?”

“You one of the temps?”

“Nope,” the man pops the p, “One of the players.” There's a slight frown on his face.

It’s a really nice face, and Jamie should _really_ stop that train of thought. But it’s impossible not to notice the way the Stars player fills out his suit, and Jamie can’t deny the rush of _attraction_ that goes through him. He’s sure his face is bright red by this point. “Oh, um, yes. Follow me.”

What a clusterfuck, how is this his life? Jamie’s brain and heart are lighting the fuck up at the sight of this undoubtedly straight hockey player, and he gets it, but really? He’s feeling betrayed by his own body.

“Thanks.” The hot guy falls into step with him and Jamie leads him over to the correct door, following him inside.

A.C. hits his face when he steps over the threshold and Jamie loses sight of the gorgeous stranger in the whirlwind of activity going on. He sighs, the one positive to never making the NHL is he'll never need to worry about being a gay professional hockey player.

He doesn’t dwell on it though, and goes to check in with Jordie who's at the center of a sea of waiters.

“And break!” The little huddle of servers disperse to go mingle with the patrons and serve hors d'oeuvres. Jordie wipes his brow of nonexistent sweat, acting like he totally doesn’t have this shit together, “Cutting it close, eh, Chubbs?"

“Ran into a lost player outside. I'm gonna go help Thema, before she decides to murder me for leaving her alone. See ya.” Jamie can tell that Jordie wants to ask him about the encounter, but he doesn't give him the chance.

There’s a man announcing the players, but Jaime blocks him out and makes his way over to the bar.

“It's about damn time you got here.” Thema hisses out of the side of her mouth, while maintaining a toothy smile directed at the people waiting.

“Sorry, didn't realize how gigantic the parking lot is,” he replies.

“There’s only been a few people so far, but this totally warrants a swap, you're totally on bitch duty now.”

Fuck. Jamie completely forgot about that.

Damn Jordie and his “brilliant ideas”. Granted, at the time, having one of them network the company while delivering drinks was a great idea… when Jamie could pawn off the job by claiming seniority.

"Sorry, little Benn, I was here first! Now scoot!” Thema grins, before turning her attention back to filling a martini glass with a flourish.

Sighing, Jamie grabs two bottles of wine, one red and one white, along with one of champagne from the icebox. Popping the cork, he pours the champagne into a couple flutes, setting them down on a circular tray.

He taps Thema on the shoulder, motioning for a corkscrew, which she produces from a bag under the bar. “Thanks,” he mouths. She gives him a thumbs up, before heading down to the other end of the bar to take someone’s order.

He fills up the wine glasses too, then tries to figure out the logistics of picking up the tray.

“Do I have to do everything for you?” Thema shakes her head, laughing.

“No?” Jamie winces. He wipes his hands on his slacks, trying to get rid of some of the nervous sweat.

“Here, hands out,” she places the tray in his outstretched arms. “Nice try stalling, points for effort! Have fun!”

Sighing, Jamie transfers the tray onto one arm. It was worth a shot. 

The room is full of people dressed to the nines, making Jamie feel out of place in his plain black, Macy’s clearance clothes. But, he’s got to buck up and make the rounds.

Making his way over to one of the Blackjack tables, he taps a gray haired woman on the shoulder, “Excuse me, miss, would you like a glass of wine?”

She turns to face him, smiling, “Why, thank you, young man!” If not for the Southern drawl, she could be his grandmother. He hands her a glass of white wine, and chats with her a little, ultimately leaving her with a business card in case she wants to cater her book club's next brunch. 

Jamie puts in one last plug for UrBenn Catering as they go their separate ways, “I make a great mimosa!”

Gladys smiles, shaking his unoccupied hand firmly, “I’ll be in touch, don’t ya worry, hon.”

That wasn’t too bad, maybe he can make it through the night.

He walks around the venue, handing out drinks and occasionally stopping to watch a game or some other activity Sloane had set up. He even briefly looks over the autographed player memorabilia up for auction. All in all, it seems like people were having a good time, and enjoying the food.

He’s even made a few trips back to the bar to fill up new glasses and grab more business cards too, hopefully meaning he’s been able to get the company some more business.

For a kid who always struggled with shyness, he wishes he could tell Ms. Powell that public speaking is totally his bitch. Well, maybe not exactly like that, but… he’s come a long way. He's still slightly self conscious about the lisp that’ll slip out at times, but he's schmoozing with some of the most welloff residents of Dallas, and managing to avoid the players. He’ll go buy himself some gold star stickers or something later.

Someone taps on the shoulder , interrupting his train of thought. “Yes?” He turns to face them.

It's the hot guy from before.

The words come tumbling out of his mouth, “Would you like a glass of wine? It’s like _The Bachelor_ , but we’re handing out wine now.” He cringes, palms starting to sweat again. _The Bachelor_? That’s what he goes with? Damn, could he come off as any more of a loser?

“Oh, uh, sure. What've you got?”

“The red is a Gamay Beaujolais that I would recommend if you plan on having anymore of the steak frites. As for the white, it's a Riesling that pairs best with the seared Ahi tuna.”

“I'll take a glass of the red then.”

“There's champagne too, if you’d prefer that.”

“Nah, I've completely blown my diet on those steak apps, might as well embrace it.”

Jamie hadn't forgotten that this was a Stars player he was speaking to, but the comment snaps him back to reality.

That could’ve been him.

He could've been the one being served wine, the one with his name in lights, the one who didn’t have to run away from reminders of a past life-

“I never got your name.”

Blinking at the other man, Jamie lets out an intelligent, “Uh. It's Jamie.”

“Cool, cool.” The Stars player fidgets with the button on one of his jacket’s cuffs.

A middle aged man flags him down from across the room. “Sorry, um…”

“Tyler, Tyler Seguin.”

“I gotta go take care of that.”

The guy, Tyler, nods, “I'll see you around then, Jamie.”

Sure, he’s only started watching games again recently, but he knows that Seguin is a rising star - no pun intended. As a result, he’s _really_ not sure why Tyler gives a fuck about his name.

In what reality would a millionaire, professional hockey player care about him, the guy who helped him find the door and served him a glass of wine. Maybe it'd be a different story with a girl, but as far as Jamie knows, no one’s come out in the NHL. He's sure he would have heard about that. _And_ this is all without considering their looks because Jamie is definitely _not_ on Tyler’s level.

Jamie shakes it off.

Making his way through the crowd, he reaches the gentleman who flagged him down. “What would you like, sir?”

“Could we place an order?” The man gestures to his wife, judging by their linked hands, and the gigantic rock on her ring finger.

It wasn’t something he’d been planning to do, but what the hell? Jamie can make it happen. “Sure thing, what can I get you?”

Leaving with an request for a martini with tequila and a scotch on the rocks, Jamie walks back to the bar, empty tray tucked under his arm.

Without the tray in front of him, Jamie can almost pretend that he’s here as a player, not the hired help. It’s probably unhealthy, but it also feels cathartic. Reaching the bar, he slips behind it, grabbing a cocktail shaker and pouring in tequila, vermouth, and a dash of orange bitters. Straining it, he adds orange peel to the martini glass, and puts it on the tray. The scotch involves less prep, and it takes him no time at all to find the poker table where the couple is.

The woman spots him first, “You came back!”

“Couldn’t leave you hanging, could I? There’s a 1942 for you, miss, and a scotch for you , sir.” He hands them their drinks, and turns to leave.

“Hold on!” The man stops him, “Your tip.” He holds out a twenty, and honestly Jamie knew these people had money to burn, but that’s a ridiculous tip on an open bar drink.

“Thank you.” Jamie ducks his head in that “aw shucks” way he never managed to kick. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

Seeing a break in the crowd’s need for alcohol, Jamie figures he could find Jordie and check in with him.

Jordie’s chilling in an office they’ve appropriated as a staff break room, “What’s up, Chubbs?”

“Nothin’ much, things’ve calmed down.”

“Really? It’s not even eleven yet.” Jordie chews his lower lip. “People liking the food?”

“Only heard good things.” Grinning, Jamie tells him,  “Handed out a shit ton of business cards too.”

“Sweet, nice work, Chubbs.” His brother comes in for a hug that Jamie knows will end with a noogie nine times out of ten.

“Don’t do it, Darth.” Jamie tries to dissuade the impending hair attack.

“Don’t do what?” The smirk on Jordie’s face shows him he knows _exactly_ what. “Can’t I give my little bro a hug, eh?”

Squinting, Jamie tells him, “No funny business.”

“Fine,” giving a long suffering sigh, Jordie, motions him over, “C'mere you dork.”

Jamie gives in, hugging his brother.

“Oh, shit! Wrong room, sorry guys! Uh, I’ll just… go, yeah that’s a good idea.”

He and Jordie break apart to see a flustered Tyler Seguin in the doorway.

“Sorry!” The hockey player does a quick 180 and slams the door shut. Jamie can’t tell if it was a trick of the lights but it looked like Tyler was blushing.

“Dude, you don’ t think?” Jordie questions.

“What?” He honestly doesn’t know what Jordie’s trying to get at.

“I think hotshot got the wrong idea about what he walked in on.” Jordie busts out laughing. “Chubbs, we don’t really look like siblings.” And he’s right, they don’t share many features and Jordie’s _ginger_.

 _Oh_ , Jamie gets it now. “We were hugging! Dudes can have a no homo moment!”

Jordie rolls his eyes. “Don’t be a non, Jamie, hugs aren’t exactly an off-ice staple for male hockey players when it comes to how they interact with other guys. You should remember, you were playing way longer than I was."

“Things could’ve changed!” Jamie insists.

“Do you really believe that, Jamie?”

“Whatever, man, it doesn’t really matter, I’m never gonna see him again after tonight anyways.” Mumbling, Jamie fusses with his tie.

“Mmm, well, except that Sloane told me that they want us to do the food for road trips and team events now. Apparently they’ve been looking for a new full-time catering business now that their current one’s contract is up. ”

Jamie’s jaw drops, “Holy shit! Jordie, what’d you do to swing that?”

“The way to a team’s heart is through their stomachs.” His brother winks before pointing a finger accusingly at Jamie. “Don't think I didn't notice you lookin’ all starry-eyed when you came in, you think Tyler’s hot.”

Jamie hates his brother. Setting his mouth in a firm line, he tells Jordie, “No. I don't.”

“It's cute that you think you can lie to me.”

He's fighting a losing battle, and decides to duck out before the discussion gets too serious. “I’ll snag a bottle of the good stuff; share the good news with the team would you?” Lightly socking Jordie in the arm, Jamie smiles. “Meet back at the shop?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jordie looks like he still wants to talk, but Jamie needs to leave. It's one thing to know he's attracted to Seguin; it's another to talk about it.

*** 

Casino Night is definitely winding down, people leaving in Ubers or their own cars if they're sober enough to drive.

Jamie starts picking up abandoned glasses from the tables, making his way around the room. The whole experience wasn't as painful as he'd worked it up to be in his mind. He's almost there, almost over a career that never got off the ground, which is undoubtedly a good thing considering their new contract with the Stars.

He goes to grab some champagne flutes off one of the tables that’s kind of wedged into a corner, and sees a figure hunched over in one of the chairs.

Tapping the man on the back, “Hey, are you okay? Do you need to call someone to get a ride home?” And he really should have known by the small black and white check of the suit jacket, but he's still surprised to see Tyler Seguin blink up at him. The self assurance that'd been all but blazing in his eyes when Jamie first ran into him, despite being lost, reduced to cinders.

“Jordie’s my brother,” Jamie’s not sure why he says that.

“Who's Jordie?” Confusion makes Tyler’s brow furrow and Jamie wants nothing more than to kiss the expression away. Jamie feels very betrayed, his heart took that from zero to sixty _real_ fast.

“Jordie’s the chef.” Jamie sees it click for Tyler, the realization that the guy he saw Jamie hugging had been dressed in a white chef’s coat.

“Oh,” if Jamie’s attention was anywhere else he would’ve missed the quiet exhale of the word.

“Yeah.”

“Jamie?” Tyler speaks a little louder.

He almost doesn't respond, completely taken by the fact that Tyler remembers his name. “Uh, Tyler?”

“Wanna take a picture?” The hockey player jerks his thumb toward the photo booths nearby.

The question throws Jamie for a loop, but he's also intrigued. What would Seguin want a picture for? He doesn't seem like the kind of guy who'd be sentimental enough to want a picture with the guy who he was sorta injured by at Casino Night. Slowly though, he feels himself nod, wondering what’s about to happen.

They fall into step. As they navigate through the tables and occasional lingering guest, Jamie finds himself asking, “This isn't some mugshot so the team can hunt me down for hurting you, right?”

Tyler stops in his tracks, whipping around to face Jamie. “No! Of course not! Is that what you think this is?”

Taken aback by the indignation, Jamie shrugs. “I just couldn't think of another reason.”

The hockey player is frozen, a small pout gracing his lips, and Jamie deliberates internally, “Would breaking an NHL player make the front page of the _Dallas Morning News_?”

He's in the middle of deciding it probably wouldn't when he feels a hand slip into his own, fingers interlocking with his.

“Is this reason enough?” Tyler squeezes his hand, and Jamie can’t breathe.

His mind races with a thousand thoughts. “What the hell?!” being the most prominent. This is obviously some prank; there's probably a teammate of Tyler's videotaping this, and it'll make it into the rounds of stories tomorrow about how drunk so and so got, or how shitty of a poker player Mr. Whoever is.

But Jamie looks at Tyler and he can't bring himself to care that this could be a joke. The other man’s hand fits just right in his own, and Jamie can feel his warmth coursing against his side. The soft smile on Tyler's face looks perfectly framed by his closecut beard.

They walk like that, hands joined between them, until they reach the photo booth. Tyler doesn’t let go to draw back the curtain, but Jamie does as he steps inside first. It's lighter inside than it is outside and Jamie's eyes have to adjust.

Tyler follows him in, and it's pretty clear that these things weren't made to fit two, upright grown men. Yet, Jamie enjoys the closeness and how they stand, foreheads bowed together, exchanging breaths in the inches between their mouths. He meets Tyler’s eyes which switch between smoldering and flirty: a deadly combination. A hand presses at his shoulder and Jamie goes easily, sitting down on the bench.

There's no chance of Tyler sitting next to him on the cramped bench – because hockey player thighs – so Jamie ends up with a lapful of Tyler Seguin whose attention is placed firmly on the screen prompting him to choose the number of photos they want. For the strict purpose of keeping him balanced, Jamie holds Tyler's waist, reveling in the cords of muscle that run underneath his clothes.

Tyler hums, “Ready?”

“I guess.”

The first flash goes off before Jamie is actually ready. He hardly notices though because Tyler captures his lips in a kiss.

It's searing heat and quenched thirst, and Jamie kisses back with just as much passion. They kiss for what feels like hours, but Jamie knows it’s only a minute or two, judging by the flashes of light as their picture is taken in succession.

When they break apart, Jamie knows it's over. He was a case of bad judgement, or a prank, and maybe he's a fool, but damn, it was worth it.

***

Tyler pushes himself up, and pulls the curtain open. Jamie expects him to take off, mission accomplished, but is shocked to see Tyler patiently waiting for him to exit the booth.

He gets out, and is surprised when, once again, Tyler takes ahold of his hand.

Jamie watches Tyler take out two strips of photos from the receptacle the machine deposited them in, feeling like he's having an out of body experience.

“Wanna see?”

The question brings him back down, and he can only nod because he knows his voice is going to crack if he tries to speak.

Angling the strips towards Jamie, Tyler looks just as nervous as Jamie feels. The duplicate set of pictures isn't explicit, just the two of them kissing, but Jamie’s face flushes just the same.

He looks up to meet Tyler’s eyes searching his face, as if Tyler is the one who’s about to be told he isn't what Jamie desperately wants.

“They're nice.” Jamie's words fail him, but he hopes the upward quirk of his lips convey the real sentiment.

“I think they're really nice,” Tyler says, mouth breaking into a blinding, toothy grin that Jamie knows is a miracle in itself for a hockey player to possess.

It's like they're in a bubble, where it's just the two of them in this moment of calm before it all probably goes to hell.

In what Jamie feels is a trend in tactility, Tyler wraps his arms around Jamie's neck, leaning into him. Jamie is slow to respond, and Tyler starts to draw back.

Making what is either the smartest or the stupidest move of his post-hockey life, Jamie encircles Tyler with his arms, clutching him back against him. “I like you more than I should.”

“Does it help if I do too?” The soft answer stuns Jamie, making him squeeze Tyler a little tighter.

Someone wolf whistles loudly, popping the bubble. Jamie promptly remembers where he is and lets go of Tyler.

Tyler lets go too, but he just moves his arm to wrap around Jamie's waist, breaking contact for less than a second. There's no fear on Tyler's face from being seen, and Jamie wonders if he could actually have this, a relationship that shouldn't work by any means.

Tearing his eyes away from Tyler, he looks out in front of them. There's not a crowd per se, but there are a few people who have gathered around them.

Two of them, a frighteningly good looking man and gorgeous woman, start in on a mildly awful rendition of “I Want to Hold Your Hand” and Tyler groans.

“You know, all you're doing is making yourself seem older, Sharpy!” Tyler shouts, interrupting the chorus.

“You know the song too!” The perfectly coiffed man points out.

“I don't know _all_ the words, fuck you, old man. Not you Abby, you're great!” Tyler retorts, ending with a cherubic expression directed at the woman.

Jamie definitely feels lost, until he sees the UrBenn Catering contingent giving him a thumbs up from the back of the group. Jordie looks alarmingly proud, while Val has his fingers suspiciously close to his mouth, indicating he was definitely the one who wolf whistled. Johnny and Thema are exchanging… money? Huh.

One man, wearing a purplish suit jacket, calls out, “You owe me, Segs!"

“I definitely do, Daddy.” Seguin replies, before tilting his head up to smile at Jamie. And Jamie doesn't know how he could've mistaken Tyler for being anything but genuine because that expression? That expression is from someone who loves free and easy, too unaccustomed to putting up a facade to even know how to construct one to begin with.

He looks at everyone around them, and whispers in Tyler’s ear, “Uh, your team already knew, right? Like we didn't just out you to your team?”

“They've known since I got traded to the Stars. Don't worry… I didn't for you either, did I?”

“Definitely not.” Jamie shakes his head.

“We skipped a few steps before the whole “meet the family and friends” thing didn't we.” Tyler grimaces, “I don't even know your last name.”

“It's Benn,” he supplies, “Think we're moving too fast?"

  
“Nah,” the blaze of self assurance that Jamie saw when they first met is back. Tyler's eyes are glimmering with it as he moves to kiss Jamie again and just before his lips press against Jamie’s, he winks, “Even if we are, Jamie Benn? What’s a little trouble?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> All the Stars players are emotionally invested in Jamie and Tyler's relationship by the end of the night because of mopey!Tyler who kept making sad puppy eyes in Jamie's direction because Chubbs didn't know who Tyler was and Tyler wanted to climb him like a tree. Demers wins the wingman award for suggesting Tyler make out with Jamie in a photo booth.
> 
> That award (Tyler actually gives him a trophy) is proudly displayed with his other hockey awards.
> 
> If you want to chat about the Stars, the Pens, or hockey in general, hmu at femkevintranirl on Tumblr!


End file.
